The Unexpected Sorting
by vilyasthrall
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Argus Filch finds an abandoned hat in the rubble. He is not prepared for the fall-out of the decision he then makes to pick it up. One-shot. Canon complaint.


**The Unexpected Sorting  
**  
_Disclaimer: J K Rowling, Warner Bros and other copyright holders own Harry Potter and other characters and setting. I do not, unfortunately._

The Sorting Hat- that wonderful, unregarded piece of magic- lay forgotten in the rubble, pushed aside by heavens-knew-what spell.

For a long moment, Argus Filch stood on the steps, staring at it. The area was deserted, with everyone either inside the Great Hall or already hurried away. Only Filch, standing in his own long shadow, remained.

Filch knelt, his injured shoulder protesting at the movement. He gripped the worn brim tightly. As a child, he had never got a Hogwarts letter, even though he'd waited. He had never crossed the lake in that stupid little flotilla he was supposed to maintain every year, never been able to sit down at a house table and joke like he belonged.

Merlin, how he missed the life he'd never had.

But now, with the hat in his hand and no one to tell him off... Argus Filch had obeyed the rules perfectly. But there was no rule, _per_ _se_, against putting the hat on your head. Against simply seeing if you could hear those gravelly tones.

It fitted his head perfectly, and refused to slide down over his eyes to block his view of the ravaged castle grounds.

'Who are you?' it asked indignantly in that self-same tired voice he'd always heard. Filch tried to hide his pulse of elation- it was talking to him!

'Of course I'm talking to you,' it said grumpily. 'Now will you tell me what this is about? I've had a rather exhausting day acting in my capacity as a sheath for that blasted sword.'

"I'm sorry," Filch said. "I'm Argus Filch, the school caretaker."

'You are?' it asked. 'I don't remember you, and I've got a good eye for heads.' Argus had a confused rush of memories. 'Ah,' the hat said, 'I don't remember a case like this before. Most interesting.'

"And?" Filch prompted.

'And what?'

The caretaker hesitated. "I just wanted to know," he said slowly, "do you think that the Founders... Professor Gryffindor... would have approved of me being here?"

'Approved?' it asked. It sounded bemused. 'Your guardianship is beyond reproach.'

"What!" Filch demanded, out loud, out of habit, pacing away from the top of the steps. "I'm not a Gryffindor. I've done nothing heroic!"

The hat laughed drily. 'What do you call the last year then?' it demanded. 'Even now, you're working yourself into the ground when you could be relaxing inside like everyone else.'

"That's just because I'm not hungry," Filch muttered, suddenly wishing quite acutely that he hadn't put on a mind-reading hat, but too well-mannered to take it odd. He started walking through the doors into the entrance hall so he could give the hat back to the Headmistress.

'Loyal and self-effacing,' it said softly.

"What?" Filch demanded, crouching slightly to grab his broom. "You're wrong," he said.

'Really?'

"I'm a bitter old grumpy git," Filch said, quoting Hagrid. "I even sided with that hag Umbridge. Is it alright if I give you to Minerva?"

'Fine,' it said. The hat seemed preoccupied as Filch picked his way across the Entrance Hall, so Filch allowed it to remain on his head, although 'allowed' may have been to strong a word; he found it nice to have a conversation after the terror of the battle, even if the hat was sadly demented. It probably came from only ever being exposed to eleven year old brats.

'Demented?' it objected abruptly. 'I'll let you know that I'm the sanest magical object you're ever likely to meet. You're the one that's messed up, probably because of all those years without knowing where you belonged.'

"Where I belong?" Filch asked slowly as he sidled over to the Main Hall's entrance. Students and teachers were bustling around a cold buffet. He tried to identify people, and avoid the nagging sensation that-

'Yes,' the hat said crisply, distracting that train of thought. 'As I said, you are loyal and self-effacing to the point of obfuscating modesty. Better be-"

"No-" Filch said, his eyes widening.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Filch squeezed his eyes closed as he felt every eye in the hall snap towards the pair of them. Filch desperately wished for the power to make the ground open up underneath him and swallow him. He had never asked it to- Surely with the damage the castle had suffered, it wasn't too much to ask for the floor to split slightly?

He cracked his eye open and fumbled with the back of the Sorting Hat's crown. "Minerva," he said, finding a familiar pair of eyes and then looking slightly away so he could avoid her inevitable look of disappointment. "I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I didn't ask-"

He was suddenly aware of another woman blocking his view of the Headmistress. Before Filch could protest, Professor Sprout had enveloped him in an enormous hug.

"Ponoma," he gasped, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

Then he froze. That made her his head of house. How did that even work?

As gently as he dared, he disentangled his coat from the sobbing women and ineffectually led her into the shadows by the side of the door. Minerva met them, failing to hide a large smile behind her hand. "Argus," she said with a grin which had been missing in the last few months. "I'm guessing you came to give that to me?"

"Yes," Filch said quickly, reaching up to the hat. "if it's alright with you, sir, of course."

Filch hadn't actually been expecting a reply However, the hat said, 'I rather like it here. It reminds me of him."

"The Headmaster?"

'Godric.'

"What!"

"Argus?" McGonagall repeated, raising an eyebrow as she reached out for the hat. "Interesting conversation there?"

Filch shivered uncomfortably. "It doesn't want to leave," he said. He didn't really want to think about it comparing him, a squib, to Godric Gryffindor, one of the greatest wizards who ever lived. "Do you think you can convince it..." he asked plaintively.

"I wouldn't dare," Minerva said as her smile expanded. "I'm sure it will be safe there for a few minutes."

Filch shifted uncomfortably, his hand clenching around the handle of his broom. "So, Headmistress," he said. "Is everything alright in here?"

"Fine. And outside?"

"Well enough."


End file.
